Butterfly Effect (3)
Guided by Pistia, we headed toward a secret workshop on the outskirts of the Imperial Capital. In the awkward, tense silence, two voices rang out.
"Professor Pistia. Isn't it a terrible waste to turn Cadet Flint into some mere tinkerer? He'd look far better serving the Lord."
"Wh-what are you talking about? Junk? That's a precision mechanism that'll change the course of human history! And Cadet Flint is the idol of our Engineering Department... Eek!"
Pistia clamped her mouth shut the instant her words met Lucius's icy gaze. He still wore that benevolent smile, but the holy power rippling around him felt like it could swallow her whole at any moment.
"Idol, you say... It seems you don't realize that idolizing anything but the Lord is idolatry. Very well, then. Let's see for ourselves. Whether that boy's truly as valuable as you claim... or if my instincts are right and he's an excellent 'hunting dog'."
The place we arrived at under Pistia's guidance was a secluded forest on the capital's edge. It looked like an ordinary warehouse, but Lucius's sharp senses instantly picked up the layers of magical security wards at the entrance and the guards' presences.
"Even stricter security than the Heresy Tribunal. As expected of the continent's top merchant guild."
With a casual flick of his hand, the guards collapsed to the ground with blissful expressions. He pressed his ear to the door.
"Engraving helical grooves into this narrow steel tube... No small feat."
"If you go even a bit too deep, the barrel warps right away. What the hell's in the head of the guy who designed this?"
Rough voices drifted from inside. "You've come to the right place."
Lucius elegantly extended his hand. Condensed holy power erupted from his palm in explosive pressure.
Bang—!
The steel door, unable to withstand the holy pressure, let out a single-shot scream like a misfiring pistol before twisting and tearing away like paper.
"What the bloody hell?!"
The three burly, bearded blacksmiths hammering glowing metal ingots inside spun around in shock.
"Is Cadet Flint here? Lying eats away at the soul—best to restrain yourself."
The blacksmiths instinctively sensed mortal peril in Lucius's silky voice. They flung down their hammers and waved their hands frantically, faces drained of color.
"Th-that guy's not here! He doesn't even come around much to begin with!"
Lucius's smile chilled at their desperate cries. "If you're lying..."
His halo intensified. "...it won't end pleasantly."
"No, really! Last time he was here was four days ago! He handed over one blueprint and said, 'I'll come back for it later—machine it up till then,' then left!"
"Blueprint?"
Pistia's eyes sparkled at the papers in their hands, but that wasn't the priority now. Lucius spread his holy power thinly across the area. His inquisitor-honed senses swept every corner of the workshop, but aside from the three blacksmiths, no other presences lingered.
Lucius fixed Pistia with a frosty stare as she reached for the blueprint. "...Department Head. Are you daring to deceive me?"
Finally snapping out of it under the killing intent crawling down her back, Pistia flailed her hands wildly. "E-eek! No! Flint specifically told me last time to come here if I had business with him! It's true! Believe me!!!"
As Lucius's eyes narrowed further, Pistia finally broke, dissolving into terrified sobs laced with betrayal. "Waaah! I got tricked too! That con artist! Deadbeat! He told me to come and then doesn't show?!"
Fearing for her life, she collapsed to the floor in heaving wails. Lucius ignored her and turned away without a second glance.
"Ah, yes. This should cover the door."
Two gold coins popped from Lucius's pocket. This is dragging on. If it's not just hide-and-seek...
Did the prey sense the trap and flee? Or had some new variable entered the equation? Lucius's mind raced. Something's off. I need to head back to the academy.
Lucius began to suspect Flint's absence wasn't mere slacking—maybe some accident had befallen him.
* * *
By the time he reached the academy's main gate, a notably sullen figure stood there. A girl with long twin-tails of pale pink hair, kicking her short legs and sighing deeply. Despite her childlike appearance, she was the pinnacle and master of this academy: Nu Aurora o Drakion.
"Headmaster. Did you happen to see Cadet Flint enter?"
Aurora huffed and shook her head at Lucius's question. "Don't get me started. On the very first day of term, you've got latecomers with no shame... and now two no-shows. Tsk tsk, biggest balls I've seen since the academy's founding."
Lucius felt a twinge of unease at the mention of two absentees. "Two... absentees?"
"Yep. Kyle von Leonhardt... and the one you're looking for, Flint."
For a split second, Lucius's mind flashed to the ducal heir from the Grand Tournament Grounds—passed out in the dirt, pants soaked. A commoner who'd inflicted an indelible wound on noble pride... and the scion of a swordmaster house likely harboring a grudge. Could those two really have skipped on the same day, purely by coincidence?
The scattered intel in Lucius's head began piecing together in the worst possible way. A ducal house had more than enough authority and power to quietly dispose of one commoner and disguise it as a "disappearance."
"...Kyle von Leonhardt."
Lucius's voice sank colder than a dungeon's chill. "That arrogant ducal heir... surely he hasn't gone off hunting my disciple because he couldn't swallow his rage?"
Pistia and Aurora, standing nearby, caught their breath at Lucius's chilling murmur. The image of Kyle on his knees before Flint's revolver surfaced in their minds.
"N-no way! Private revenge inside the academy?!"
Aurora protested, but her limbs trembled. Flint assassinated by the ducal house—or already dead? And on the first day of term? An unprecedented mega-scandal. The Imperial Academy was on the verge of uproar.
* * *
Shame. That was the only word that fully captured the emotion I'd felt that day at the Grand Tournament Grounds. My impregnable Aura Shield had shattered before some mystery hunk of metal, and even my house's proud sword, Durandal, had snapped in two like a twig. But what truly bound me in agony was collapsing to the ground and pissing myself in front of hundreds of noble ladies and youths.
Grk...
My family's reaction was merciless. Father exploded in fury, hurling abuse, refusing even a new sword and ordering me to keep using the broken one. The heir hailed as the empire's swordsmanship future became a laughingstock overnight.
I couldn't bear the scorn to return to the academy, skipping even the department fair and wandering aimlessly. Don't look at me like that...!!!
All I had left was bone-deep shame and a broken sword. Clutching its shards, I desperately scoured for a repair shop. The Gos Merchant Group's workshop should've handled it, but their three master smiths were away, and I got turned away at the door.
"Damn it! Nothing's going right."
That's when it happened. "Keh heh heh. The sword's weeping, boy."
A ragged old man in shabby robes blocked my path. He glanced at the broken Durandal in my hand and smirked. "You don't suit such a heavy greatsword."
"......Get lost."
"Become my disciple?"
I glared at him with bloodshot eyes. Already tormented, now some crazy geezer blocking my way—today was cursed. "I'm the heir to the empire's premier swordmaster house, Leonhardt. Don't spout nonsense about becoming the disciple of some doddering fossil from who-knows-where."
"Tsk tsk, so narrow-minded. Those scrawny muscles and twitchy nerves of yours never suited a brute slab like that to begin with."
The old man's eyes flashed sharply. "Your body's far better suited to an Eastern blade than some oaf's toy."
"Ha! Nonsense!"
I snorted, readjusting my grip on the broken greatsword. To show him he was no match, I lightly kicked off the ground and charged. Shwick—!
"......!"
I couldn't believe my eyes. His hand brushed his waist, and suddenly the flat of his blade pressed my nape. The draw was so blindingly fast, I hadn't even seen the arc. Lightning-quick Iaijutsu. A clear defeat. In real combat, my head would've rolled.
"...!!!"
His sword carried no mana or aura—just brutally pure technique. Me, heir to Leonhardt greatsword arts, beaten by that simplistic motion? How?
"Well? Tempted now?"
Normally, I'd rage at my house's style being dismantled... but oddly, I didn't. A tiny spark of hope ignited in my chest instead of shame. At this speed...
That demonic silver lump shoved at my forehead at Mach speed. With this iaijutsu, I can behead him before his steel balls!
House Leonhardt forbade learning any arts beyond our swords by clan law. But if no one knew... if I could crush that commoner's smug nose...!!
Without hesitation, I prostrated before the old man. Clan rules? I'd trash them gladly if it meant that arrogant commoner's head. "Be my master!!"
"Keh heh heh!! Good! Follow me."
Thus, I abandoned my house's pride to become this nameless old man's disciple. A week until academy opening. Coincidentally, he allotted me exactly one week.
"I'll gladly teach you. But I must hurry onward, so I can give you only seven days. Fail to grasp it, and it's not fate."
At his declaration, I ditched academy prep and dove into mountain training. I, Kyle von Leonhardt, might've knelt to that flimsy silver toy, but I was the empire's acknowledged sword genius.
"Hoh. As expected of the ducal blood claiming empire's top sword. Shedding a lifetime of heavy greatsword habits this quickly."
Gripping the Eastern slim blade, drawing from the sheath. I retooled my muscles and breath solely for iaijutsu. Torn palms bleeding rivers, calluses forming—mere mosquito bites compared to pissing myself before hundreds.
Ten thousand, hundreds of thousands of times. The chilling rasp of sheath and blade filled the silent mountains. Lost in mad repetition, opening day dawned before I knew it.
But I didn't descend. Academy? What use are their rote knightly codes and aura basics now?
No honor until I took Flint's head, that cocky commoner. This old man's swordplay was my sole lifeline from the nightmare. I resolved to skip the first day.
Attendance scores and rules paled against etching one more trajectory from his fingertips. Holed up in the mountains through truancy, finally—a heavy whoosh erupted from my blade.
Shwick—!
The unseen-speed draw sliced air and bisected a thick log cleanly. "I... did it! I did it..!!"
Achieved with pure body and skill—no mana or aura. "Keh heh heh!! Splendid, boy. True beast blood. You've mastered the basics beyond my expectations."
My master smiled warmly, tossing me a worn manual from his bosom. "This holds my sword art's essence. Time's up—I'm off. Study it and refine without me."
My fingers trembled clutching the manual. "Now descend. Time to claim your revenge."
I bowed deeply to his vanishing back in thanks. Then headed down with light steps. Wait, Flint.
My iaijutsu's now faster than your steel balls. I'll plant despair on that insolent face.
Buzzing with elation, I leisurely descended and reached the academy gates. There, black-robed priests heavily armed and frenziedly searching caught my eye.
Heresy near the academy? World's gone mad.
Figuring it unrelated, I tsked and walked on. Then locked eyes with a searching inquisitor.
"Found you, you murdering demon!"
"......What?"
My vision flashed white, and consciousness faded.